


Hymn of the Cherubim

by LenaLawlipop



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Songfic, post apocanot, singing angels, thoughts on religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 17:21:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22499722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LenaLawlipop/pseuds/LenaLawlipop
Summary: Aziraphale was singing something, he realized after a moment. Not just humming, not just lacing sounds together, not just praying, but actually singing.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 67





	Hymn of the Cherubim

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a songfic mostly because it was inspired by a song, and Aziraphale sings it, but the lyrics, for once, aren't important so you'll be spared the paragraphs in italics we all skip when reading songfics (?)
> 
> Anyway, it's [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OPlK5HwFxcw) and in my humble opinion it's An Experience to hear it, religious or otherwise. A round of applause for Mr. Tchaikovsky.
> 
> This fic is a little vague, and She knows I had a lot of trouble getting myself to edit the mess it used to be when I first wrote it... so, on that vein, thanks a ton to [Liquid_Lyrium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liquid_Lyrium/pseuds/Liquid_Lyrium) for beta help!! <3 
> 
> In any case, I'm sort of proud of how it came out in the end, so I hope you guys enjoy this story! <3

It's generally well known that neither angels nor demons are inclined to dancing. They were created before music ever was, and while some of them were musically inclined, none at all knew how to dance.

Aziraphale wasn't like most angels, though. Crowley knew that much. While Aziraphale had always denied the ‘playing harps up in Heaven’ part, Crowley had found out after his century-long nap that his angel had learned how to dance. This wasn't too surprising, as Aziraphale had always enjoyed learning about the human arts, and dance was but the next on the list, as far as Crowley was concerned. He was currently waiting for the angel to ask him whether they should learn ballroom dances together, but so far no luck.

In any case, dancing was interesting, but not altogether... game-changing. Aziraphale wasn't great at it, and he wasn't terrible, and that was that.

Singing, on the other hand...

Crowley had assumed, considering Aziraphale's insistence that he didn't play any instruments, that he couldn't sing. He'd never heard him sing anything at all; at most, he might have heard him hum to himself while he prepared some tea. If he'd heard Aziraphale sing when they were drunk, well, Crowley couldn't remember. He would like to think he would have sobered up for singing, though.

Especially, he thought, if Aziraphale's singing was like _that_.

They had been dating for a few months now, after the Apocaloopsies. At first, neither had dared to try and talk to their contacts, not that they had had many to begin with. But eventually, Crowley had started to realize that the few demons he encountered here and there were _avoiding_ him, and Aziraphale had never even seen any other angels on Earth to begin with, so they started to relax. Relax, and also, go back to previous routines. Dining at the Ritz, drinking at the back of the bookshop, having inane discussions on whether Shakespeare deserved or not to have the credit for Hamlet's success... They also started new routines, like Aziraphale waking Crowley up in what had automatically been deemed as "Best Mornings Ever", or Crowley settling in Aziraphale's lap on the evenings to leech body heat off of him and listen to the angel read out loud for him. He couldn't quite speak as a snake, but the warmth and the soothing sound of Aziraphale's voice made giving up his usual sass worth it.

Crowley had started to take care of his plants again, spend time on his flat every now and then to make sure they weren't getting out of hand. Aziraphale, however...

Aziraphale had gone back to praying.

Crowley had been terrified at first. He had been convinced the Almighty would smite them in their place, that Metatron would tell the other angels, that the archangels would find out everything.

But nothing happened.

Aziraphale had simply smiled like he knew this would happen — this, being nothing —, and had carried on with it as normal. Crowley hadn't known just how much the angel prayed, before, but he had felt it wasn't his place to object. He would always deny ever speaking to Her, but _if_ he did, that was a private conversation between the two of them. He was "nice" enough to extend the same courtesy of privacy to Aziraphale. The angel enjoyed the ritual of it, and after only a few months of peace and quiet, he had deemed it safe to start visiting Her house again.

Churches... Crowley was old enough to understand the importance of them. He admired the architecture, the way humanity had grown to make better, bigger, more magnificent churches. He would admire the acoustics, the thought put behind every column. But he could never step inside, and he wouldn't want to. The only reason he would ever enter a church again had already been decided, back in 1941, and that reason wasn't Her anymore. She didn’t want him there anyway, and after so long, he’d stopped caring whether or not She liked him. But Aziraphale liked him. Or at least tolerated him. Point was, Crowley wasn't up for feeling such pain anymore, not unless it meant getting closer to Aziraphale.

That reason hadn't come up again since, but it had all changed that Sunday morning, when Crowley had woken up groggily, devoid of the sweet treatment he'd become accustomed to. He was still at the bookshop, but there was no trace of Aziraphale anywhere, and it suddenly made Crowley fear the worst. He miracled his clothes and appearance, opening the bedroom door with a careless flick of his wrist, but had the good sense to check the rest of the place before storming out.

In the kitchen, next to a cup of coffee that smelled just like Crowley liked them, was a note.

'Terribly sorry dear, but I had to pop out for a moment. I won't be long, I'm just down the street. Hopefully you won't wake up before then.

Love,

Aziraphale'

He had written it by hand. Crowley could tell because of the faint smudge on one of the corners, and the splotches of ink where Aziraphale's dip pen had deposited more ink. At the end of words, and on those words right after Aziraphale had dipped it back into the inkwell. Of course the angel would still use a dip pen. Maybe it was an actual quill.

The note was very simple, on itself, but it told Crowley just about everything he needed to know. Down the street was the church that Aziraphale frequented the most, and judging by the temperature of the coffee, he hadn't left that long ago. If he hurried, he might be able to catch him and they could walk back home together... Wouldn't that be nice?

As he walked out of the door, he noticed the chill of the air on his skin, making him miracle himself a cozier jacket. It was just before sunrise, really. The sunlight was barely peeking from the horizon, and the fiery orb was still nowhere to be seen. The streets were almost empty, nothing like what it would look like during the day, and Crowley wondered what Aziraphale had been thinking, leaving at this hour. He knew the angel didn't sleep as much as him, but he also didn't roam the streets after it was dark, and rarely before it was proper morning. Then again, Crowley hadn't known about his praying habit a few months prior, so maybe this wasn't too strange?

It was the scent in the air that gave him the first hint. The closer he got to the church, the more noticeable it became. Miracles. Small, tiny miracles, but they were littered around the street like a trail, and the few people who were walking to their jobs seemed to all share a faint feeling of contentment. Those who were sleeping in their beds, smiled placidly, temporarily free of the weight of nightmares and stress. It was almost a little much, Crowley thought. Aziraphale must have been in some sort of miracle-y mood.

The church reeked of holiness, like all of them did. They had a particular smell to humans, apparently. Something like quiet, and incense, and cold, and Crowley wasn't really sure if the humans themselves were supposed to enjoy it. Personal taste, he'd guess. In any case, he wasn't able to smell it. The holy water sitting innocently at the door frame was enough to give him a bit of a headache, like a strong perfume would.

Not that he needed to enter, for that matter. He stopped at the front doors, which had been thrown open. The soles of his feet tingled unpleasantly, a cautionary tale not to step any further, so he didn't. He could see Aziraphale from there, anyway. Oh, and he was _quite_ the vision...

Aziraphale didn't always manifest his wings. He sometimes used them to cuddle Crowley, or even more rarely, to fly. But he had rather soft feathers, white as fresh snow, that were now covering the floor in front of the altar, some of them littering the aisle and shining softly under the timid rays of the winter sun. They had their own light, making Aziraphale look rather ethereal, and he'd changed his usual clothes in favor of the white tunic Crowley had first met him in. His hair was just a little longer, forming gracious curls around his face, and while Crowley couldn't see his face from this angle, he knew his eyes were a swirling pool of vibrant blue, so blue it would make humans cry with emotion, without really knowing why, just because they were that beautiful. The sun coming in from the church’s windows made the scene look serene, white light bathing everything and casting shadows in all the right places. A painter would have wept watching the symmetry, and the composition, and the angle, and all of that.

As it were, Crowley had only once seen Aziraphale in his true form. After Armageddon't, they had only had one night to learn the ins and outs of changing form and imitating each other to perfection. Thus, revealing their true forms was a must. What if their head offices asked them to change? They had to be able to at least imitate them in some capacity. It was thanks to this that Crowley knew that Aziraphale's voice resonated with echoes of multiple other voices, some male, some female, some unknown, but all of them _Aziraphale._ It had nearly brought _him_ , Crowley, to tears.

Perhaps because he knew this, or perhaps because he'd been waiting to hear those voices again, he noticed immediately the only other note of discord in the air. From the other side of the room, near the sacristy, a priest was staring at Aziraphale, muttering a prayer under his breath that made Crowley's stomach churn. But he couldn't quite move from his spot, and a second later, he stopped wishing he could.

Aziraphale had stood up from his prostration, and one of his voices was humming. Soon enough, another one, and another one, and when Crowley looked over, the priest was sobbing like a child, down on his knees and clutching his chest in enraptured prayer. Crowley felt it too. The devotion in the voices was above anything a simple mortal could comprehend, and even to a being like Crowley, it was moving. Crowley couldn't, wouldn't, pray like that. But from the outside, watching what Aziraphale's faith looked like, sounded like, felt like, made _others_ feel like... He didn't have the strength to deny him this. It was not his place.

Aziraphale was singing something, he realized after a moment. Not just humming, not just lacing sounds together, not just praying, but actually singing. The words were muddled in the reverberation within the church, but as soprano notes hit the ceiling, Crowley gasped in recognition. It was a piece that Aziraphale sometimes played at home, from one of his classical music CDs. He couldn't name it, nor its author, but he recognized it. The bass voice rumbled within his own chest as Aziraphale continued to sing, and slowly, slowly, walked up the altar to bow before the cross. Still singing, he turned around, and Crowley bolted from the door before Aziraphale spotted him. He pressed himself flat to the outside wall, hissed briefly when the contact burnt him. A few seconds later, Crowley risked a peek around the doorframe. Aziraphale had turned around again to look at the altar, standing with his back straight, head tilted backwards in prayer. 

He was good. He was more than good, he was divine. Crowley felt a pang of pain run through him at the thought. Blasphemy wasn’t a problem for a demon, but being so close to a church always seemed to have added side effects… Still, he couldn’t be bothered to retract the words now that they’d come to mind. Aziraphale was otherworldly beautiful and vibrant in the middle of a modest church, harmony in a sea of cacophony, perfect in the world of a demon. There was not a single voice out of tune, Aziraphale sang like he had been made for it. Like he had been taught this eons ago, and could do it in his sleep, like he'd been doing it for years. Could it be? Had Crowley simply never listened?

The song went on for a little while, and he wanted more than ever to touch Aziraphale. To burrow his face into his feathers, which he knew were softer than anything he'd ever touched before, and to place his fingers on his chest, feel the reverberation of all those voices within Aziraphale. The angel had another form, Crowley knew, in which he looked less like the classic image of an angel, and more like a glow of light, and love, and a lot of gentle blue eyes. That form, hidden beneath the angel’s corporation, behind his wings even… That form Crowley could never imitate, much as Aziraphale couldn't assume a demon's true, original form. It didn't seem like he was planning on changing to that, however. 

The sobs from the priest nearby had quieted down, but he was still looking at Aziraphale, transfixed. Aziraphale hadn't seen him yet, or if he had, he didn't bother addressing him. By the time the last of his voices faded into the dome of the church, Crowley had decided to step inside. His feet burnt, and he hissed in pain at first, causing Aziraphale to turn around towards him, but he didn't stop walking. He pretty much ran towards him, stepping with the entire length of his feet, defiantly. Aziraphale was already fretting by the time he reached him, confusion clear in his face.

"Angel, save it," Crowley mused. "I want to hear more. Will you sing more for me?"

"I will!" Aziraphale assured him in a hurry, flustered, and trying to get Crowley to stop jumping from one feet to another, wringing his hands in hesitation. "I will, I promise, but first..."

"That was so lovely," Crowley added. "I would have come closer earlier but you looked like you were about to stop if I did..."

"Of course I would have...!"

"Sheesh, She is _pissy_ about this church thing, isn't She?" he continued, wondering if the benches would help. They sort of did, but not by much. He still attempted to jump on one. "Hey, look Aziraphale, the floor is la..."

"Oh, for Heaven's sake, Crowley."

He hadn't been expecting the angel to pick him up at all, not really. He'd been too distracted trying to see the few eyes peeking at him from beneath the feathers. The eyes wouldn't be fully visible unless Aziraphale released his essence out of his current vessel, and that was contraindicated if you wanted to keep it, but they were there, under his corporation. Anyway, the point being, he hadn't expected the sudden warmth around himself, or the pain to fully stop. He gaped at the angel.

"Love," he blurted out, and Aziraphale blushed scarlet red.

"W-what's that?"

"You just picked me up bridal style," Crowley stated, dumbfoundedly. "Why?"

"You can't step on consecrated ground!"

"I didn't know there was such an easy loophole."

"... me neither. Did it work?"

"... yeah."

Aziraphale smiled.

He sat on the bench that Crowley had just tried to climb onto, with the demon in his lap, and extended his wings to surround them both. The voices started singing again, and Crowley couldn't help but gasp in delight, burrowing his face into Aziraphale's neck and feeling the vibrations, his warmth, so different in this form from the usual, human-like warmth he had.

It was the same song, Crowley noticed eventually.

It sounded sad, if he didn't think much about it, if he didn't watch Aziraphale sing. But this time he was close enough to see his face, close enough to notice the blissful expression in his eyes as he sang. The voices didn't all sound like Aziraphale's, sometimes they were higher or lower, sometimes resembling female or male voices, but always obeying him. Aziraphale was... enjoying himself, really.

It wasn't exactly a prayer, it was more like a hymn, or perhaps part of a liturgical chant. Now that he was closer, he could hear the voices better, separately if he so chose, and Aziraphale had used a minor miracle to let Crowley understand what they were saying in whatever language he was speaking. It was unnameably beautiful, despite the holy nature of the hymn. If Crowley closed his eyes, it reminded him of light right before sunrise, of tiny droplets of dew on the leaves of his plants, of little tired smiles while sipping tea together. It enveloped him in the same feeling of acceptance that Aziraphale exuded, and for a moment, Crowley thought that stepping into consecrated ground for Aziraphale, was not only a necessary evil but Worth it.

When Aziraphale finished again, Crowley opened his eyes to smile at the angel, who returned the smile before looking up.

"Good morning, father," he addressed the priest, whom Crowley had already forgotten about. "Be not afraid."

"I thought it was just a joke, when angels are depicted as telling humans not to freak out," Crowley murmured, smirking, and Aziraphale all but rolled his eyes. The priest, having come closer, was trembling like a newborn lamb, and fell to his knees in front of them.

"Now shush, my dear," Aziraphale instructed Crowley in a quiet whisper.

"I..." the priest's voice was rough in comparison to Aziraphale's, but even when he cleared his throat it remained so. He was a middle aged man, some hair already greying, but not thinning, not yet anyway. He was entirely ordinary. "Mr. Fell," he breathed, eventually.

Oh?

"Peter," Aziraphale replied, unsurprised. "I didn't think you would be awake yet."

"I... wasn't," the human replied. It seemed as though he was having trouble responding about such inane matters to the being in front of him, and Crowley, for once, couldn't fault him. He, too, would be confused if he suddenly saw Aziraphale's true form, or one of his true forms anyway, without knowing he _had_ one at all. Humans were rarely prepared to see an angel in the flesh anyway.

"Ah," Aziraphale replied then, somehow managing to look contrite. "I do apologize. Did I wake you?"

"Oh, no, no, please, it's..."

"Oh, good," Aziraphale didn't seem to mind the confusion in the priest's face, nor did he seem inclined to explain things. Crowley looked at both of them, amused, until the priest noticed him. Crowley waved his fingers, but stayed quiet. Aziraphale sighed. "Pardon my friend. Has a flare for the dramatic, him, but he won't bother you."

"Oh. Oh, of course. Yes, of course, Mr. Fell..."

"What is it, father? Speak your mind," he enthused, gently, and Crowley twitched uncomfortably. He didn't really need to hear the sins of humans, nor was he in the church to forgive them. He wasn't working for hell anymore, but he wasn't any less of a demon...!

"Haven't seen him before, is all," the priest, Peter, mumbled under his breath. "New around here?"

"My friend is not religiously inclined, but the house of God should be open to anyone, without judgement. Love should not be limited to only those who you consider peers, but to everyone," Aziraphale reminded him, a little patronizing, and more than a little righteous. Crowley pretended to gag. The human simply nodded, staring at Aziraphale like he had hung the stars in the sky.

"Is he...?"

"Yes?"

"Like you?"

The question floated in the space between them all, constricting Crowley's chest with a mix of disappointment, horror, and shame. Did he look like an angel? Would Aziraphale prefer if he did? He _had_ expressed before that he liked his longer hair, the way he had worn it before...

Aziraphale simply smiled.

"Yes," he lied. Crowley gaped at him. "But you understand, not all of us have a terrible habit of letting humans see us."

"O-of course."

Having finally found his ground, seemingly, Peter simply watched the two supernatural beings currently sitting on his church, and took a step towards the bench in the opposite aisle. When he sat down, he crossed himself, closing his eyes for a brief prayer that Crowley didn't need to be an angel to hear.

"If I may..." the priest began, and Aziraphale nodded indulgently. "You don't have to lie to me. I won't try to banish him or stop him from entering this place. But I have seen enough to know that he is not exactly an angel."

"Oh, he's not an angel," Aziraphale admitted easily, smoothing invisible lines over Crowley's shoulders, and soothing him. Crowley wasn't used to being nervous, not of a human, but being in a church put him at a disadvantage as it was... "He's not an angel, but he _is_ like me, in many a sense."

"I… see," Peter said, but he didn't seem to really understand what Aziraphale meant.

"Besides, asking people what they _are_ is quite rude. I guess it's different when you don't see them everyday, but it gets rather old, as questions go."

"Of course."

"In any case!" Aziraphale settled, and his eyes shone with gentleness and affection. "You need not worry, Peter. I shall see you on Sunday for mass. I know I don't need to remind you to speak of this to no one, of course. I wouldn't be able to keep coming back, and I have finally learned all your lovely and musical prayers."

"Oh, no, I wouldn't dare...!"

"Perfect. I do so enjoy some singing every now and then."

There was no denying the twinkle of complicity in Aziraphale's eyes as he stood up, concentrating on returning himself to his more human-shaped form, and still holding Crowley in his arms almost effortlessly. Despite his corporation's tendency to accumulate extra weight, Aziraphale had always been a strong soldier, and while this didn't surprise Crowley, it seemed to be unusual to the priest, who simply raised his eyebrows for a moment, taking in the scene in front of him.

"So, does everyone really deserve redemption, Mr. Fell?" the human asked, and Aziraphale stopped in his tracks, frowning in surprise.

"Why, _that's_ a good question. Yes, I do imagine what has prompted it," he chuckled. "That is, however, not for me to answer. God said to love everyone as if they were your brothers, however, and I go by that. Humans have always known that there are some sins heavier than others, haven't they? Forgiveness is in many senses dependent on each of us, isn't it?"

"Yet God made angels fall," Peter observed quietly, and this only seemed to amuse Aziraphale further.

"Yes, I do suppose She did, no? Ineffable, it really is. But I'm not here to impart her judgement, only to follow Her word. And if I'm made to love, then isn't it natural that I will? Her judgement is Hers to pass, not mine."

"Her..." Peter repeated, raising his eyebrows.

"God is ineffable," Aziraphale repeated once more, gently. "Ultimately the way we speak about Her is imperfect by the sheer definition of 'ineffability'."

"Right."

"Right."

"Well, um... Have a nice day, sirs. Do feel free to come back anytime, Mr. Fell. I wouldn't mind to have more conversations with you," the priest ended with, perhaps wanting to take some time to process this all, or perhaps because Crowley was starting to get impatient, and Aziraphale had all but glared at him when he felt him start to squirm in his arms. "And..." he continued, and Crowley then directed his own glare at him. It didn't seem to deter him. "You, too, mister, are welcomed in this church, if you ever decide to come back."

Crowley didn't answer, and it didn't look like Peter was expecting him to. Aziraphale, on his part, simply beamed, and started to walk towards the door. Once outside, Crowley all but jumped from his arms.

"Well, that was embarrassing," he muttered.

"What, dear?"

"I am _never_ stepping on a church again, not even to hear you sing. What if a human sees us again? Ew," he continued, perfectly aware that he was rambling, and that Aziraphale knew for a fact that he didn't mean it.

"I think Peter was most understanding, and you know humans. He will have found a way to rationalize it by the next time he sees me."

"What if he doesn't? You know how some priests can be about angels, Aziraphale. You of all people should know! You've shown yourself before many a time."

"Yes... I do suppose I have."

"You _do suppose_? What were you thinking?"

"It's not against regulation."

"Regulation? No, we don't care about that anymore, remember? That's not... _Regulation?_ " Crowley hissed, waving his hands around in desperation. "Angel, you just told the man that I'm a demon, pretty much."

"Peter has always been very perceptive, so I didn't think there was a point in hiding it," Aziraphale defended himself. Crowley tried to backtrack, realizing he'd lost the angel a while ago.

"What happened to keeping a low profile for a while, Aziraphale?" he begged. Aziraphale nodded in realization.

"They won't care. Humans don't file paperwork to tell them that an angel appeared before them."

"You have no idea how technology works, do you? What if someone had recorded it? You could be all over the internet by now."

"Oh, I don't know... do you think cameras would pick up our essence? You know how all this stuff can meddle with it..."

"I don't know," Crowley admitted, begrudgingly. "But that's not the point! The point... the point is..."

"The point is, I wanted to sing, and I wanted to talk to Her, and I did," Aziraphale settled, when Crowley didn't find the words he needed quickly enough. "I left you a note, how was I supposed to know you would come find me? Even more so, enter the church itself? I did not mind Peter seeing me. He's a faithful priest, very devoted and honest. One would think he had never even seen what temptation looks like," he beamed, and Crowley sensed there was more history between them than he was privy to. He didn't ask.

"Alright," Crowley gritted his teeth. "So that's it, huh? It's my fault?"

"Oh, I wouldn't put it that way... Honestly, Crowley, why are you making such a fuss about this?"

Crowley himself wasn't sure. He sulked a little, crossing his arms and walking a few steps ahead. He needed the space, and Aziraphale seemed to realize this, because he kept pace with him just the few steps behind, but always there, comfortingly enough. The cold breeze and the timid rays of winter sunshine reminded Crowley of how the sunrise had looked like when it hit Aziraphale's wings through the church's window, how the voices had sung in crisp tones, not one of them out of tune. How utterly beautiful and entrancing it had been.

Why _was_ he so upset?

Maybe it was the novelty. Maybe it was the reminder that Aziraphale had a life he wasn't allowed in, a life inside God's house, a part of himself that Crowley was not allowed to reach. Maybe it was the astonishing fact that, apparently, being carried into a church by an angel was the most stupidly simple way to bypass said prohibition. Maybe it was both combined, maybe it was the fact that he had just been forgiven by a stranger for sins that the human couldn't even begin to imagine — or, at the very least, offered a place in his church, not that a priest’s forgiveness mattered to Crowley. Maybe it was a bit of everything.

"Maybe it's Maybelline," is what he said out loud, when they entered the flat above the bookshop again some minutes later.

Aziraphale chuckled and snapped his fingers. The cup of coffee on the kitchen was instantly warm again, and Crowley accepted it graciously when he offered it to him. As he did, Aziraphale waltzed to the cupboards, starting to prepare some tea for himself. He leaned against the kitchen counter after he did, stirring in the sugar slowly, and waiting for Crowley to put his thoughts in order.

Aziraphale was good at overthinking. This wasn't new, and Crowley knew that this show of patience would soon turn into panicked sulking, and moping, and thinking that he had done something terrible. He walked closer to the angel, gently taking his drink away and setting both mugs down on the counter, only to help Aziraphale sit on it as well. Aziraphale blushed, hands grabbing Crowley's shoulders to stabilize himself until he realized what he was doing. Then, he wriggled until he was sitting comfortably and linked his ankles around Crowley's legs, pulling him closer.

Crowley went willingly, laying his head on Aziraphale's shoulder and closing his eyes. Being able to be this close to him _was_ new, and he didn't think he would ever grow tired of it. It was relaxing, especially so considering the six millennia of overthinking every single fleeting touch between them, so when Crowley felt Aziraphale's fingers carding through his hair, he couldn't help but let out a quiet sigh.

"I am not allowed in churches," he said after it became obvious that Aziraphale was still waiting.

"Yes."

"You've carried me into one, pretty much, angel."

"Out of one, if you want to be specific, but I suppose it could be said that..."

"I don't think that's supposed to work like that, angel."

Aziraphale stayed quiet at that. Clearly, he had thought the same. At the time it hadn't been a good moment to discuss it, but...

"Then, what do you think?" Aziraphale asked after a moment, and Crowley sighed.

"I think She may have allowed it for some reason."

"Well, Her reasons are..."

"Yes, yes. Ineffable," he muttered sarcastically. "I knew you were gonna say that."

"Well, they are!" he said, defensively. "Plus, isn't it a good thing?"

"It was warm," Crowley confessed, and he watched Aziraphale's neck blush slightly. "You, that is. Your wings around me."

"Why, thanks dear."

"I don't _want_ to be allowed into churches," Crowley added, painfully. Aziraphale's fingers stopped very briefly in his hair, before continuing his ministrations.

"Well, you aren't, really," he reasoned. "Not by Her. Maybe by me, but at any rate, you should know you're always allowed to be near me. After all, we wouldn't have been able to stop Armageddon if it hadn't been allowed in some measure, right? For us to be together?"

When Aziraphale started arguing semantics, Crowley thought, it wasn't really worth it to try and argue against him. He shrugged.

"Humans would tell you that you should be a lawyer, angel. You always find the loopholes in everything," he joked. Aziraphale chuckled.

"She forbade us from breaking the rules, but She never said anything about bending them a little, did She?"

" _I'm_ not the one collecting Bibles, Aziraphale."

"Touché."

They stayed there for a while, embracing softly, until both of their mugs had become cold once more. Aziraphale kept caressing his hair, even pulling his glasses away so that he could run his fingers without tripping over the side pieces. Eventually, he started to sing again.

This time his voice sounded a lot more human, due to his corporation's limitations. It was quieter, without the reverb of the church around them, and it gave it an intimate feel that made Crowley shiver. It was still the same song, which must have resonated with Aziraphale for some reason, whatever the lyrics meant. Crowley didn't know, and he didn't want to interrupt, instead enjoying the sound of Aziraphale's human voice singing in quiet tones.

"What is it called?" he asked after a while, when Aziraphale finished the tenor voice, and before he could start with the contralto. The question made him chuckle, pulling slightly on Crowley's hair, playfully.

"Hymn of the Cherubim," he replied, almost bashfully. "Silly, isn't it? I'm not _technically_ a cherubim, but still..."

"Appropriate, nevertheless," Crowley chuckled under his breath as well. "If it calls out to you, angel, sing it. Your title doesn't matter to me."

"Dearheart..."

"Will you sing for me, angel?" Crowley asked again, tightening his hold on Aziraphale's waist, almost liquid against him, melting under the love pouring out of his touch.

"Of course, beloved. Of course."

And Aziraphale did.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for listening! I hope you enjoyed my reading :D
> 
> If you did, please consider leaving kudos or a comment, they're greatly appreciated, and if you liked the story please also visit the original work! 
> 
> If you want to yell with me and share more headcanons for these dorks, you can find me at my tumblr, [kyokotsukuyomi](http://kyokotsukuyomi.tumblr.com/), the comments section down below, or any of the links in my profile. Don't be shy!
> 
> Love,
> 
> ~Lena


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